


A man's eyes

by Space_Samurai



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21647404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai
Summary: Omera isn't surprised to find softness beneath the armor.
Relationships: The Mandalorian/Omera (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 559





	A man's eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This ship has consumed me. Send help.
> 
> Also, thanks for all the support in my other Mandomera Fic!

After the victory, Omera thought their unlikely heroes would leave in the search for their next adventure, but to everyone’s surprise, both decided to stick around and help to rebuild what had been destroyed.

The warrior is not a talkative man, but he is not sharp or impolite at all, so the silences shared between him and Omera are comfortable. She rather enjoys his company, and the quietness is not unwelcome. He had seemed so unapproachable when he had arrived to their village, but in truth there's more than a little kindness beyond the armor.

She brings him food every morning, mid-day and night. It saddens her that he would not join them to eat, even if she understands why. She feels it's the least she can do, other than watching over his little green son, as she has him living on a barn and he is the reason her daughter gets to run carelessly through the high grass. 

He is yet to tell anyone when he’ll leave, so Omera allows herself to hope he’ll stay. The warrior doesn’t seem aware of how well he’d fit in their little village; he could raise his son in peace and stay away from the danger that his profession brought. Omera wasn’t blind, she saw how devoted he was to his religion and the people who had took him in as a child. She wouldn’t dare to ask him to put the helmet away, though that didn’t stop her from wishing he would.

He did more than just help around with the huts, he was willing to participate in the less exciting parts of being a krill farmer; he had knitted a net with Winta, much to Omera’s shock and secret delight. She made sure to leave a jar of spotchka with his meal that night. 

Once in a while, she’d catch herself wondering about how he looked beneath the armor. Was he well-built? Most of his bulk seemed to belong to the steel. Did he smile behind the helmet when he gazed upon his boy and the other children? Omera couldn’t tell for sure, but she had a feeling that he did. 

In those moments, she’d tell herself that one day, when he decides to leave the armor and the weapons in the barn, she’ll find out. In the meantime, she contented herself with the casual conversation and his awkward small-talk. The Mandalorian wasn’t as smooth as she thought he would be, which was surprisingly amusing. If he knew what she hid behind her smiles, he never said.

Sometimes, her thoughts are less innocent. Omera hasn’t been with a man since her husband passed, and she finds herself wondering if he is as kind with his hands as he is with his words. Heat run to her cheeks, making her feel like a teenager instead of the grown woman she is. She’s never been anything less than direct with her own desires, but she is aware that such honesty might spook him and entertain Cara Dune.

She believes her infatuation might be mutual when, one night, she catches him staring at her as Omera cooed at his son. The child had no problem at the time of going to bed, unlike many human children, and he was light as a feather, so rocking him back and forth wasn't a tiring task. When she turned, she was met with his helmet, which made her jump.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized.

"It's nothing," she assured him. "Would you like to hold him?" He nodded, moving to take the boy from her arms. He babbled against the older man and Omera felt a pang of longing for the times when Winta was younger. It was odd, to see him being so gentle with the full armor on. Yet it felt right.

She tried to imagine him holding a human baby, with a tuff of black hair on top of their head. The image brought conflicting emotions.

“I’ll look over him tonight,” he tells her. Then takes a step towards the barn, but stops before continuing. “Goodnight,” the Mandalorian wishes her.

“Sleep well,” Omera whispers in return.

Three weeks after the battle, the whole village is rebuilt. They now even have a few extra huts, while the older ones stood fixed and firm once more. They decide to throw a party in honor of their saviors. 

There is music and the spotchka is plenty. The children get sent to bed early, as they easily got exhausted from the celebration. Cara Dune has no issue with being the center of attention of the pretty women of the village, and some of the fairer men. It makes Omera chuckle behind her own mug.

The former bounty-hunter does not share the enthusiasm of his partner and sits on a corner for most of the party. Omera cannot see under his helmet, but she’s certain that he is rolling his eyes at the woman’s antics. 

Since Omera has had more spotchka than she should have, she feels a bit bolder than usual, and decides to take a sit by the man’s side. Around them, the people laugh and dance. The music is loud.

“You are not one for fun, aren’t you?” She asks him with a smile.

“This isn’t my idea of fun.” He replies seriously.

“What is it then?” She wonders curiously.

There’s a pause and then he spoke. “I’m not sure.” Omera finds it sad, even as she doesn’t exactly has an excitingly fun life. “What do you do for fun?”

Omera thought about it for a bit. “There’s a lake not far from here. My mother taught me how to swim in there, and I’ve taken Winta once or twice.” She felt a fond smile spread on her lips. “It’s a lovely place. I could take you there if you’d like to.” Once the effects of the spotchka diluted, she’d feel embarrassed by her own forwardness.

“There’s nothing lovely about swimming in this,” he said drily, gesturing at his armor. 

“Then you’ll just have to take it off,” she suggested, without an ounce of shame. Before she could embarrass herself further, one of the women came and dragged her to dance. Omera missed the way his eyes lingered on her the whole night. The next morning, she brings him breakfast as usual and pretends she said nothing the night before. He is kind enough to pretend the same.

She had feared they would leave as soon as everything went back to normal, but they don’t. In fact, Omera would dare to say they are getting comfortable around the village. Which is good, as the people are grateful and would like them to stay. So does Omera, though there may be some selfish wishes hidden there. 

The days are easy and pass quickly. Omera watches over the children, who play free and without worry. The warrior hunts and brings meat from the forest. She always gets one of the bigger cuts. Omera suspects he’s trying to make himself useful, and she keeps herself from saying he has done more than enough. 

He is not half as discreet as he thinks, and more than two ask Omera if she’s soon to acquire a new husband or at least a new son. She brushes them off with a laugh, ignoring the way their comments make her feel.

Until…

One night, Omera wakes up thirsty. Winta is passed out by her side, snoring deeply into sleep. Not far, the child is on his crib, also asleep. She leaves the cot, careful not to wake anyone and rises to walk towards the door of their hut, where she keeps sweet-water in a bottle. 

Apparently, she had left it closer than she thought, because she soon stepped into the bottle and sent it rolling across the floor. She cursed under her breath. The children still slept like stones, but the sweet-water had been spilled. If she didn’t clean it now, she’d be sleeping over the sticky substance. Omera sighed and left the hut, walking towards the barn. 

She had a chest full of blankets and covers by the entrance, and there should also be rags around there. She was careful as she stepped on the wooden floor, cautious as to not make any noises. But he had a light sleep, like a proper warrior, and one does not simply sneak on a Mandalorian.

She hears the click of a gun, but she doesn’t fear him. 

“It’s me,” she whispers. “I came to look for something, go back to sleep.” 

She hears him walking towards the door, and when he speaks, Omera realizes he isn’t wearing the helmet. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I just spilled something.”

“Can’t it wait until the morning?” 

Is it _amusement_ what she senses in his words?

“It cannot, it got into my cot. I can’t sleep there unless I clean it.” Or maybe she’d be better off throwing the whole thing away, it was getting old anyway.

“Would… Would you like to sleep here tonight?” Omera isn’t sure she heard him right. 

“I wouldn’t send you to sleep in the forest.” She says. 

“I don’t have to. I mean…” He is nervous, Omera realizes. He clears his throat, and the gesture is so human it’s almost weird. “You could come in. We—” An invitation, if there was ever one. “If you’d like to.” He hurriedly adds. 

Omera finds herself frozen on the spot. “Won’t there be a problem with your helmet?” She asks, because she has to. _Or more with the lack of it_.

“I can barely see anything myself and I could… close the windows to keep the moonlight out.”

Omera’s mother had once told her that the night made everyone feel brave and bold. She never thought she’d prove her right. “Tell me when and I’ll go in.”

He didn’t lie, the darkness is blinding inside the barn and he has to guide her with a hand so she won’t stumble upon anything. He pulls her down when her feet feel the linen sheets. Soon, they find themselves sitting closely, in front of one another. Omera can feel his breath on her face. The helmet and armor are nowhere in sight. If they are close, Omera can’t make out their shapes in the dark. 

She isn’t sure about what to do, still wary of the fragile situation. He is both bigger and stronger than her, but it doesn’t escape her that he is the one putting himself in a vulnerable position. She won’t make him regret it.

Slowly, she rises her hands until they find him. They land on his shoulders and Omera gives him enough time to push her away before moving up.

She cups his face, feeling the uneven beard and mustache, neither of which she had expected to find. She traces the lines in his cheekbones and the crinkles at the end of his eyes. She feels him tremble a bit. _He must be as old as me_ , she thinks, _if not older._ Though not an old man.

His hair is soft and short, she twirls the strands between her fingers. Omera wonders what color is it. He is definitely human, if she had any doubts before, they were now gone. She hears him breath steadily as she continues her exploration. He has a hooked nose and her pulse quickens as she places her fingers over his lips. He has thin lips, she notices and thinks about how they’d feel against hers.

He had been still as a rock, and then his hand moved to grasp her wrist, cutting her movements. Omera refused to feel disappointed, especially because she knew how much this gesture meant. She was likely the first person to touch him since he was a kid. The thought almost made her shudder physically. She would treasure the memory once he was gone. 

But he doesn’t move away or push her aside. His own bare hands come to cup her face and trace over her features. She sighs contentedly in the darkness. His palms are warm and calloused, the feeling of them is welcome and pleasant. He runs his fingers through her thick hair, moving to her back when they are done with it. He brushes over her waist, the sensation is light yet so powerful. Her stomach tightens.

She had forgotten too, what it was liked to be touched by others.

His forehead was pressed against hers and for a second, Omera was certain he'd kiss her. He doesn't. “I’ll spread the cot,” he says then and his warmth is removed from her body. She sits astonished for a second, before rising from his sheets to help.

They spread the second bedding by the side of his. Omera bumps against him multiple times, blind as she is in the dark. He never once complains, however, but gently points her to the place she's supposed to be. She pretends to fall asleep quickly, closing her eyes and steadying her breath.

He stays awake for long, unmoving and silent. Omera doesn't ponder on whether he might be regretting it or not. It's like they were sleeping with a sword in the middle, keeping them from getting closer. She would have liked to turn around and press herself against him, but she didn't. Instead, she sleeps. Omera could swear she felt his fingers caressing her cheekbone, but it might have been a dream.

When Omera wakes up, the barn is illuminated by sunlight and the Mandalorian is nowhere to be seen. His armor and helmet aren't around either and she guesses he might have headed out earlier. 

"Mom?" Winta's voice is what makes her fully aware of her surroundings. "Why are you sleeping in the nice-man's bed?" She questions innocently from the door. Omera could die of mortification.

"I spilled sweet-water in mine." She explained. "He was kind enough to let me have his."

"Oh," it seemed to be enough of an explanation. "He brought breakfast for us, said you were sleeping."

He had brought the kids breakfast? A smile threatened to break on her face.

"Did you thank him?" Winta nodded firmly.

"Good." She praised. Omera stretched her arms and pulled the sheets away. It was a new day and she couldn’t spend it on bed.

The morning air is warm and there’s not a single cloud in the sky. The kind of day her mother would use to take her to the lake. Omera thought that it might be a good time to take Winta to swim. She wondered if the Mandalorian would accept, should she ask him to join them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
